In At the Deep End

by Penelope Janu

  I trace his scar. ‘Why won’t you tell me how you got this?’

  He should be used to me asking about his scar by now. But he can’t seem to stop himself stiffening and blanking his expression. ‘You know I don’t talk about it.’

  ‘It’s because you can’t tell a lie, isn’t it? A normal person would just make something up.’

  ‘It’s a personal matter.’

  ‘Like swimming’s a personal matter to me.’

  ‘Heartbeat, Harriet. Focus on that. We’ve still got two steps to go.’

  I study step four. The water will be up to Per’s neck by then. Say he slips? He may be an action hero but he’s got a scar. Something or someone has hurt him. I can’t breathe under water. But neither can he.

  The tide of nausea is sudden and overwhelming.

  ‘Harriet!’

  I don’t need to say anything when this happens. Per feels it in my heart rate.

  He stands with me in his arms, walks up the steps and strides along the landing. Then he supports me around the waist as I drop to my knees. He shields me from anyone who might be able to see me from the beach as I heave into a rock pool. When I’ve finished I sit on my haunches and lean against him while I catch my breath. I scoop water from another rock pool and rinse out my mouth.

  ‘I shouldn’t have eaten anything before we left. It makes it go on longer when I do.’

  ‘It’s better that you eat.’

  Sometimes I have a glimmer of hope that I’m improving, but then it’s obliterated. We could be back on step one on Monday morning. When I was with Roger, I could swim with my head above water. And then I fucked it up. If I do the same thing this time I’ll be letting Per, Tan and the foundation down. It won’t do my self-esteem any good either.

  ‘Can we go?’ My voice is croaky.

  Per’s still standing behind me. He speaks quietly. ‘Tell me what set you off.’

  I silently shake my head. Then I get up and walk along the landing to the top of the steps, and pick up his backpack. I’m drinking from the water bottle when I turn and bump into him.

  He takes my arms above the elbows and frowns into my eyes. ‘Harriet. Tell me.’

  Tell him what? That it was the image of his head going under the water that tipped me over the edge? That I was concerned about him? It adds another level of craziness that I’m not sure I want to share.

  When I twist in his arms he releases me. The Amazons are still warming up. I worry that sometimes they’d like to be in the pool earlier than seven, but they don’t want to interrupt me and Per. Helga is lying on her back, leaning on her elbows. She smiles when she catches my eye. She lifts her legs in the air and points her toes. All she’s wearing is a one-piece swimming costume.

  ‘Morning,’ I say, sitting next to her and wrapping my arms around my knees. ‘Aren’t you freezing?’ The temperature can’t be much more than eight degrees. That’s not bad for winter, but the wind off the ocean is cool. It’s less sheltered here than it was at the pool.

  ‘I’ll warm up soon enough. I saw you on step three again. Well done, dear.’

  Per appears. He stands at ease with his hands behind his back. ‘Good morning, Helga,’ he says.

  ‘Hello, Commander,’ Helga says, beaming at him.

  ‘If you insist on calling me that, I’ll have to address you as Mrs Lamont.’

  ‘You’ll do no such thing. I enjoy calling you Commander. It impresses my friends at bridge when I tell them you’ve joined the Amazons.’

  He frowns. ‘I’d prefer you didn’t mention me. Or Harriet.’

  Helga rolls onto her side, then stands and scoops up her towel. She looks up at Per in an imperious way.

  ‘I’m not a gossip, young man. None of the Amazons are.’ She touches my shoulder. ‘Goodbye, Harry.’ Per and I stare after her as she walks to the pool.

  ‘Harriet?’ Per holds out his hand. ‘Let’s head back.’

  ‘What were you thinking?’ I say, taking his hand and pulling myself to my feet. ‘As if Helga would talk?’

  ‘I was warning her in order to protect you.’

  ‘Liar! You were protecting yourself.’

  He tips his head back. I imagine him counting, so I say the numbers out loud, the ones he uses with me when he’s encouraging me to match my heart rate to his.

  ‘En, to, tre, fire …’

  ‘Stop it.’ He links our fingers together. ‘Let’s walk.’

  ‘All right. But it’s true—you were protecting yourself. I guard my personal life, but I don’t hide away from people like you do.’

  Other than letting the foundation use his official navy photo, where his peaked black cap obscures his eyes, Per has refused to get involved in any of the foundation’s fundraising efforts. Tan and I didn’t have high expectations of him doing so, but we were both hoping he’d get more comfortable with the idea and show up at some of the functions. But all he’s agreed to do is limited publicity relating to the December trip to Antarctica. And he tolerates the foundation linking his name with Roald Amundsen in my posts.

  ‘If I was prepared to argue with you,’ he says, ‘I’d dispute that.’

  ‘And if I wasn’t being civil to you, I’d tell you I don’t need your protection because I’m perfectly capable of looking after myself.’

  He squeezes my fingers. I’m not sure whether it’s an acknowledgement, an admonishment or because he wants to shut me up. But as we’re only a couple of metres from the surf now I don’t much care what he’s thinking. There’s hardly any wind and the ocean is relatively calm. There are always breakers at Avalon, but they’re less than half a metre high today. The whitewash dawdles to the shoreline, sinks into the sand, and disappears.

  We always walk home this way, on the hard sand close to the waves. And then we stop at the northern end, near my house and the rock shelf where Dougal knocked me over. Sometimes we sit close together and watch the waves. Other times Per stands directly behind me. Whenever I flinch at the approach of a wave he pulls me against his body. I’m always too jumpy to say anything much, so he talks about his research. I’m wondering whether we’ll be sitting or standing today when he interrupts my thoughts.

  ‘Tell me why you panicked at the pool.’

  I close my eyes for a moment. ‘I’d rather not.’

  He changes direction immediately. We walk onto the soft sand and head for the dunes. From the stiffness of his fingers I can feel that he’s angry, but I’m not going to tell him I was worried about him. When we get to the steps I pull my hand out of his. He follows me in silence until we climb over the fence that leads to my garden.

  ‘Thanks,’ I say, reaching behind my back for the zip tag of my wetsuit. ‘See you Monday.’ My shoulder pulls. ‘Ouch.’

  ‘I do your zip every morning,’ Per says, moving behind me. ‘Why is today any different?’

  When his fingers touch my neck he sets off thousands of nerve endings all down my spine. I shiver. He freezes for an instant, and then he comes closer. I feel his warmth against my back and the movement of his chest when he expels a breath.

  ‘I wish you’d stop asking questions.’ My voice is uneven.

  He must have dipped his head because now I feel his breath on my neck. ‘Du tar livet av meg.’

  ‘You’ve said that before. What does it mean?’

  He hesitates. ‘It means “I’m going to have to kill you”.’

  I turn. ‘No it doesn’t. You said the same thing a few days ago, when we were on step two. You weren’t angry then.’

  His hands are clenched and he’s scowling. ‘Angry? Do you think that’s what I am now?’

  ‘What else?’

  He closes his eyes. Then he opens them again and stares into mine. ‘“Du tar livet av meg” means “You are killing me”. Happy?’

  I shrug. ‘You’ve said much worse. And I can’t really blame you, having to put up with me vomiting all the time.’

  He searches my face, and then his hands go to my shoulders. He touch
es my neck with his fingertips. When my legs wobble I lean forward and rest my hands and forehead against his chest. His fingers thread through my hair and he tips my head up. Then he puts his mouth and nose against my cheek. His breaths are just as jerky as mine. They warm me.

  ‘We can’t do this.’ His voice is raspy.

  My fingers glide over his chest. I wish I was touching his skin. ‘You said I had to touch your body.’ My voice is barely a whisper. ‘That’s how I’d feel safe.’

  He laughs but it’s more like a groan. ‘This isn’t safe.’

  ‘It’s not?’

  I want him to hold me closer. An ache spreads through my body. My breasts are sensitive. I stroke the side of his neck, and his cheek. I touch the hair near his temple, and then I trace around the rim of his ear. When he shudders I take a tiny step, lining my body up against his so we’re touching almost everywhere. He tenses—I feel it from his chest to his knees.

  He takes a deep breath as he pushes me backwards, holding me at arm’s length. ‘Something like this,’ he slowly runs a finger over the rim of my ear, and back again, ‘can never be safe.’

  His grey eyes stare into mine. I know I’m in the wrong so I look away before I turn and dash up the stairs to the deck like a startled possum.

  ‘Harriet.’

  I watch him pick up his sheepskin boots. His bag is over his shoulder. His expression is perfectly neutral, as if nothing even happened. And maybe it didn’t. Because he’s given his word not to behave in a manner that would suggest he’s attracted to me. I’m the one who set the rules. I should be happy.

  ‘I understand you have a function tonight,’ he says.

  I clear my throat. ‘The UN dinner at Government House. You refused Professor Tan’s invitation, so I have to go instead.’

  Other than tightening his lips, he ignores my comment. ‘You’ll be late home,’ he says. ‘But we could go for a walk on the beach tomorrow morning. Eight?’

  It’s not the first time he’s asked about Saturdays and Sundays over the past number of weeks. Perhaps it’s because he’s back at sea in a few weeks’ time—he needs to work out whether I’m a lost cause before he goes. That would explain why, even though he’s unfailingly patient while we’re at the beach, he’s invariably grim on the walk home. I’m progressing so slowly he must get fed up.

  Not that I can help him with that, because I can’t do any more than I already am. My heart skips a beat when he smiles. I like listening to his voice, even when he’s talking about glaciers. His self-control infuriates me. I want to kiss him. And I want him to kiss me back.

  ‘I’m tied up tonight, and Saturday night,’ I say. ‘And I have to catch up on sleep and schoolwork during the days.’

  ‘You’re committed all weekend?’

  I salute. ‘Yes, Commander.’

  He takes a step towards me. But then the kookaburra swoops in front of him and lands on the railing a few centimetres from my hand. I jump.

  Per is startled too, but he recovers more quickly. ‘Løgner,’ he says, giving me a fake smile before turning and walking up the side path.

  I’m not sure what it means. Liar?

  Twenty minutes later I’m showered and dressed, sitting at the table on the deck eating my cereal. I have a blanket over my knees, a spoon in one hand and a pencil in the other. My sketchbook is open but I know it’s unlikely I’ll be drawing the kookaburra even if he does come back. I’ll be watching Per.

  After he walks me home he must take his boots and bag back to his car, which is parked near the surf club. Then he runs along the sand and dives into the waves at my end of the beach. His long strokes take him straight out to sea, fifty metres or more, until he’s behind the break. He swims the length of the beach, all the way to the pool. When the sea is calm he swims freestyle. In stormy weather or rough seas he often swims under the water. Sometimes he disappears for a minute or more before he reappears, takes a breath like a dolphin would, and dives out of sight again.

  He’s already in the ocean when I see him, black and long and lean. His strokes are powerful and so are his kicks. When he dives beneath the swell I hold my breath, and only breathe again when he comes up for air. If I weren’t sitting down I’m not sure my legs would support me. My heart pounds and my palms sweat.

  He’s the only one out there today—even surfers avoid the midwinter swells. Finally he reaches the southern end, catches a white frothed wave to shore and runs up the beach. He looks in my direction. It would be impossible for him to see me from where he is but all the same I pack everything up with shaking hands and walk inside the house.

  CHAPTER

  23

  The Scott Foundation: Environment Adventure Education

  Busy weekend! Professor Tan has already filled you in on our dinner at Government House on Friday, and the shindig at the Vice Chancellor’s residence last night, so I’ll just tell you what Drew and I have been up to.

  We had a fantastic day at Taronga Zoo on Saturday. Robbie Matheson, primate vet at the zoo, was kind enough to show us around the new orangutan enclosure. You can get information on the orangutan orphan sponsorship program on the zoo’s website.

  Today we drove to Newcastle, a few hours north of Sydney, to see The Adélie. Her captain, Tom Finlay, gave us a tour. The fit-out is amazing. Have a look at the photos—the ship is magnificent!

  We can’t wait to put The Adélie through her paces on her maiden voyage for the foundation—a trip to Palau, a tiny island in the Pacific Ocean. We hope you’ll all join us on that trip—on your screens anyway—as we explore firsthand the devastating effects rising sea levels are having on low-lying regions of the world …

  Harriet

  Five minutes after I’ve posted, I get an email message from Per.

  Harriet. Løgner means liar. I’ll call you tonight.

  I pick up a stack of marking and go in search of Liam. It’s his turn to cook.

  ‘When will dinner be ready? I’m starving.’ I stand on tiptoes and look over Liam’s shoulder to see what’s in the saucepan.

  ‘Get out of the kitchen,’ he says, bumping me away and consulting his cookbook. He adds pepper. ‘I’m concentrating.’

  I leave him alone, and warm my hands in front of the heater. ‘Long day.’ I yawn. ‘The Adélie was worth it though. You should’ve seen Drew’s face when he saw her. Brilliant.’

  ‘Did Polarman get onto you? He called this morning.’

  ‘I was driving. Didn’t pick up.’

  ‘You told him you’d be home today, sleeping and marking.’

  ‘He sent me an email. Didn’t sound happy. Said he’d call me. What do you think he wants?’

  Liam sucks in his breath. ‘Tell you over dinner.’

  I narrow my eyes. ‘Tell me now.’

  He stops stirring and rests his hands on the kitchen bench, grimacing. ‘Polarman and I are worried about you.’

  Liam is intelligent, and besides Drew, he’s the closest I have to family. So why can’t he get over this crush on Per? He puts on a serious doctor voice and repeats everything Per told him about me. That I should be resting on the weekends because the weekdays are traumatic. That I’m feeling the cold even more than usual because I’m losing weight. That he suspects my sleep is still troubled.

  ‘Told Polarman the nightmares get worse with every step you go down in the pool,’ Liam says. ‘He wasn’t happy about that.’

  I’m too angry to speak to Liam while we’re eating. But he’s gone to a lot of trouble with dinner so by the time I go to my room to finish my marking we’re on civil terms again. He wakes me up when he sticks his head around the door.

  My light is still on and I have papers all over the bed. ‘What time is it?’

  ‘After twelve. Polarman couldn’t get you on your mobile so he called the landline. When I told him you’d gone to bed, he said I should pass on a message.’

  ‘0600 hours?’

  ‘Nope. He’s going to sea tomorrow. Said he’d call again later i
n the week.’

  I’m still half asleep, and not sure how I feel about Per not coming. It would have been awkward seeing him again because of the way I behaved on Friday, leaning against him in the garden and touching his ear. And he would have been angry that I lied to him about my plans for the weekend. But I want to continue with step three of the pool. Has he given up on me? Do I have to do the rest of the steps by myself?

  ‘Is there an emergency at sea?’ I say. ‘Or was it planned?’

  Liam shrugs. ‘No idea. Though he did make a point of saying that if you go anywhere near the sea, or the pool, or the rock shelfs, he’ll kill you.’

  So he is coming back. ‘He’s quite funny sometimes.’

  ‘He wasn’t laughing. And neither was I, when I said I’d help him do it.’

  The Scott Foundation: Environment Adventure Education

  Preparations are complete for our annual fundraising dinner, to be held at the Intercontinental Hotel on Saturday evening. I look forward to seeing many of our friends there, as do Professor Tan and the other members of the board. The dinner gives us the opportunity to discuss the foundation’s work with environmental colleagues, sponsors, parliamentarians and media organisations.

  I’m looking forward to briefing everyone on how the foundation and our modern day Amundsen and Scott—Per and me—are working together through scientific exploration and education to preserve the polar environment. And Professor Tan will give an update on fundraising efforts for The Adélie.

  See you Saturday!

  Harriet

  It’s Wednesday afternoon and there’s been no word from Per. I’ve missed three days at the pool. Professor Tan calls when I’m on my lunch break, supervising the canteen queue.

  ‘Hey, Professor.’

  ‘Afternoon, Harry. I wanted a word about Saturday.’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘I’d like Drew to be there.’

  Drew comes to many of the foundation events—when I’m around to look after him. That won’t be possible at the foundation dinner because hundreds of guests will be there. I doubt Drew would say anything incriminating about what happened before The Watch sank, but every so often he lets something slip. A few weeks ago he talked about the need to check the ballast tank seals, a detail he’d forgotten all about in the lead up to the Antarctica voyage. I don’t trust Tan not to question him when my back is turned.